


Nice To Meet You, Finally

by smileybagel



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileybagel/pseuds/smileybagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for AC3! Do not read if you haven’t finished the game! </p><p>In hindsight, he really should have seen this coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice To Meet You, Finally

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few weeks ago and completely forgot to post it here. Oh well.  
> boop boop

There was always a nagging sensation in the back of Desmond’s mind whenever he entered the Animus, as if someone was watching him.

Well…someone other than the team. 

Every time he delved into his blood’s memories, a subtle chill worked its way down his spine as he would get adjusted to whichever body he was borrowing. With Altair, it was terrifying. It was that sort of paranoia you get when you learn a convicted murderer has just escaped prison and is in your area. You just can’t sleep at night, thinking that somehow this madman will find you and decide to hack you up next, and that was exactly what Desmond felt when he masqueraded as the Master Assassin. Maybe the guy had some Templar spies after him the whole time, who knows. Either way it gave Desmond the creeps.

Ezio was a completely different story. After being in the Italian’s mindset and…sort-of body for so long  _(god it was weird being born!)_ and facing the assassination attempts numerous times, the crazy axe murderer chill went away…Only to be replaced by that feeling that the creepy guy down at the end of the bar is watching you,  _intently_ , and he might have roofies in his pocket.

The only time Desmond felt at ease with the constant supervision in the Animus was when he visited his youngest ancestor. It was…protection and comfort and sorrow and love all wrapped into one and it made Miles feel at home, home being behind the bar, mixing up dastardly concoctions of consumable poison and fruit. 

But really, he should have known all along. 

The Animus was basically magic, or as close to it as science could get, so why  _wouldn’t_  it be possible?

Death wasn’t pleasant. Juno was a filthy liar and always would be. Painless, she said. Quick, she said. Try telling that to every last nerve that was fried to a bloody crisp in his body. Honestly, looking back at his body now, Desmond was surprised he didn’t smoke rising from his corpse. 

His corpse…What a funny way to think of it now.

Or maybe he was just being morbid. Eh. 

The more he stared at his remains, the more unsettled he became. There was the chill from before, the one that sent you to bed with a knife underneath your pillow because you thought the crazy dick might break into  _your_  house, not your neighbor’s. Not a good feeling, take it from him. And he knew it wasn’t from seeing his lifeless meat sack on the ground. No, he knew where it originated now.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump  _(he would have said out of his skin, but that’s already done, isn’t it?)_ and he spun on his feet, half expecting to see Juno there for some last words before she left to lay waste to mankind. 

Gold met brown and Desmond yelped. Another hand landed on his hip, a chin resting itself on the junction of his neck and shoulder and he didn’t dare move. Finally, a comforting palm was resting on the small of his back. Desmond breathed, inhale, exhale, rinse and repeat. In, out, in, out.

Fuck, did he smoke anything with Rebecca before he kicked the bucket? Could a high even transfer into the afterlife?

“You’re the one who has been playing puppet master.” Shit fuck goddamn he was talking. 

“Quite an interesting pastime, mio amico.” Says the man who entertained ladies all hours of the night every chance he got.

“You couldn’t let the dead rest, could you?” Desmond fought to get a response out, really he did, but he could only gape like a fish. What other reaction could he give? His ancestors were standing here, actually talking  _to_  him, not through a hologram, and physically touching him and oh god Ezio was breathing on his neck  _pleasestopjesus._

“Wha-I! It’s not like I wanted to interrupt your afterlives! How are you even here in the first place? You’re all supposed to be dea-“

Oh.

Right.

Death.

Altair smiled, a small, barely there expression. Ezio’s hand tightened on his waist and he buried his nose in Desmond’s neck. Connor moved closer, letting his hand wrap around Desmond’s waist as well and laying his head atop his descendants. The recently deceased laughed dryly, lowering his head and biting his lip. He didn’t think he would be able to feel the hot sting of tears but lo and behold there it was. A hand came into his vision, leading up to Altair who just stood there, offering it and waiting for Desmond to take the invitation.

“It’s time to go home.”

He hesitated. Who wouldn’t, though? But home…Home sounded good. It was time to stop running, time to finally take a break and relax for once since this whole fiasco started.

His hand met Altair’s and he couldn’t help but gaze at the missing digit as the hand curled around his own. 

“That sounds… _perfect_  actually."


End file.
